Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

robert frost.

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.

About Me.

I am an avid procrastinator and work for evil corporations in my free time. Have always championed the cause of the average and want to root out brilliance wherever I see it. I am a virtual distance running champion and play real-life counter strike pretty well. My ambitions include making spinach popular, teaching Chinese, buying real estate in the Helmand province, direct a movie about N D Tiwari, perform a lobotomy on Glen Beck, have an IIT named after me, invent a cuisine and strike oil in Bangalore. I have almost accomplished most of the above.